


you keep me hanging around the crime scene

by inlovewithnight



Series: domestic kinksters [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Content advisory: This is a depiction of negotiated rape fantasy.</p>
    </blockquote>





	you keep me hanging around the crime scene

**Author's Note:**

> Content advisory: This is a depiction of negotiated rape fantasy.

Mikey comes through the door at precisely 6:05, tossing his keys on the table and kicking his shoes into the closet. The dogs don't come running to greet him, because it's Tuesday, and Tuesday is their playdate at Frank's so Dad and Dad can have special alone time.

(Sometimes Mikey suspects that the way they treat the dogs might qualify as weird, to some people.)

"I'm home," he calls, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the doorknob. "Hello? I'm home."

"In the kitchen."

Mikey walks back that way, humming to himself. He waves at Pete where he's standing by the stove. "Hi."

Pete sets his spoon down carefully. "You're late."

The clock over the stove says 6:08. Mikey's careful not to let his smile show. "Oops."

"Oops. That's what I get from you." Pete takes a drink from the bottle of beer sitting on the counter, replacing it with a precise click. "I've been waiting."

"The train ran late."

"Don't bullshit me, Mikey."

Mikey licks his lips and shrugs, rocking back on his heels. "I'm not."

"I've been _waiting_."

"The train..."

"Don't." Pete steps away from the stove. "I know exactly where you were."

"On the train? Yeah, because I just told you."

"You think I'm in the mood for games, Michael? You really think now is the time?" Mikey doesn't answer, just waits, and Pete takes a slow step toward him. "I know where you were. I found these in the couch."

He pulls a handful of something blue and satiny out of his pocket, letting it dangle from his fingers, and Mikey bites back a groan as he realizes it's a pair of women's underwear. _Oh._

"You have anything to say for yourself, Michael?"

"Pete..." It's half a plea. Pete smiles and walks over to Mikey, running the underwear between his fingers.

"You think you can get away with running around on me." Mikey shakes his head, but Pete keeps talking, curling his fist around the fabric. "You think you can just do whatever you want and I won't figure it out."

"Pete."

"Shut up." Pete's hand settles flat on Mikey's chest and pushes him back hard, until his hips hit the table edge. He keeps pushing and Mikey bends back, sprawled on the surface.

"You dirty little whore," Pete growls, leaning in to breathe in Mikey's face. "You think I wouldn't find out?"

Mikey groans, inching up the table and holding his hands at his sides, palms up, silently begging Pete to pin them. Pete laughs and shakes his head, twisting the underwear into a tight knot.

"You knew there would be consequences, Michael." He squeezes Mikey's jaw until it drops open, the shoves the fabric inside, gagging Mikey shallowly. "You knew you were going to pay for that kind of shit."

Mikey closes his eyes and Pete's fingers slide against his wrist, tapping twice against the bone. Mikey taps back, two beats against the table, almost-silently signaling him to go on.

Pete shoves his knees between Mikey's thighs, forcing them apart while he opens Mikey's fly. "Consequences," he repeats. "You act like a whore, you get treated like one."

Mikey bites down on the underwear and shakes his head. Pete yanks Mikey's jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. "Dirty," he says, tracing the half-hard curve of Mikey's dick with one finger. "Christ, you can't get enough, can you?"

Mikey doesn't catch on, distracted by the pounding of his pulse and by trying not to choke on the silky fabric in his mouth. He doesn't have a chance to brace himself before Pete's hand comes down in a hard slap at the base of his dick. Mikey gasps and cries out, muffled by the gag, and Pete holds his hips down with one hand and slaps him again with the other.

"Bad," Pete says, his voice a rough growl that Mikey barely recognizes at all. "Bad, dirty boy needs to learn a lesson..." He hits his stomach next, then the top of his thigh, his other hand releasing Mikey's hip and coming up to grip his hair. Mikey tugs against his hold, feeling the sting and burn in his scalp, and moans roughly around the gag. That earns him a slap in the face.

"I'm going to fuck you," Pete says, leaning in close enough that Mikey feels hot breath and flecks of spit against his face. "I'm going to turn you over and fuck you into the table and there isn't a thing you can do about it, you know that?"

Pete flips him over with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip, letting his stomach slam down hard against the table edge. He shoves his knee between Mikey's thighs again, pressing it hard against him. Mikey can feel his breath hot on the back of his neck, until suddenly there's a slide of wet and then sharp, shocking pain as Pete bites down hard on the skin over Mikey's spine.

"You're _mine_ ," Pete mutters against him, grinding his knee into Mikey. "Mine. My..." He steps back abruptly, leaving Mikey collapsed against the table, struggling to catch his breath without choking on the gag.

Mikey can hear him moving around, then the sound of the condom wrapper tearing open. He concentrates on breathing, trying to center himself into the growing heat in the pit of his stomach, until he feels Pete's hand settle on his ass, spreading him open. Then he can't help moving, his hips jerking forward to grind his dick against the edge of the table.

Pete's hand slides lower, catching Mikey's balls and squeezing hard. "Stop it," he says as Mikey jumps in shock, shoving back against him and trying again to cry out around the gag. "Don't you _dare_."

Mikey forces himself to go still, his thighs shaking with strain. Pete squeezes again and then pushes inside him, deep and steady. There's a bit of slickness to the condom, but not much else, and Mike bites down hard on the gag against the stretching pain. He breathes out through his nose and relaxes into it, losing himself in the pounding of blood in his head and the solid weight of Pete on top of him, pressing him down hard into the table as he starts to thrust.

"Mine," Pete whispers, his breath hot enough that Mikey can feel it through his t-shirt. "You're mine and I don't fucking share, Michael. You understand?" Mikey nods, fast and desperate, until Pete tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls his head back. "You won't go running around again, will you?"

Mikey can't shake his head now, can't move it at all, and Pete shoves his head down hard against the table, thrusting into him faster, deeper. He's been on the edge of anticipation all day, too; Mikey knows him well enough to know that, even if he couldn't feel his movements getting more erratic and his breath getting shallower as he gets close. They've both been _waiting_ , thinking about it, and Pete's had the fun of planning it out instead of the sweet nervousness of trying to guess.

" _Will_ you?" Pete growls against him, his hand sliding between Mikey's legs to pinch hard at the base of his cock. Mikey cries out around the gag and shakes his head, banging his nose against the table hard enough that he sees stars. He loses his balance, falling forward, and the shift in position unbalances Pete. His hands tighten on Mikey's hips, digging in hard against the flesh and yanking him back as he drives his cock deeper inside him.

Mikey gasps and chokes, trying to cry out, and shakes his head hard, spitting the gag out onto the table. He drags in a breath and exhales with a raw moan, a shudder running through his body. The combination sends Pete over the edge, his fingers gripping tightly enough to bruise Mikey's hips as he groans roughly against Mikey's back.

Pete stays deep inside him for a moment, breathing ragged and muscles shaking. Mikey waits, sucking air in through clenched teeth and forcing himself to be still until Pete pulls away. He feels warm wet strike the back of his neck before he processes the noise that Pete just made, spit slimy on his skin.

"Little whore," Pete adds, cold and dismissive. Mikey coughs, clearing his throat, and his hips jerk against the table edge again as Pete gives a casual slap to his side.

Pete walks away, out of the room, and Mikey lets himself sag against the table as shudders of shock run through his body. Adrenaline crash, fuck fuck fuck, actually worse than the pain, since that hasn't managed to get through to him yet. He curls in on himself a little, breathing through the shock. Jesus.

(He's still half-hard, but it's habit to ignore it, shove it down under the adrenaline and the blossoming edge of pain. He never comes on the nights they play like this. That waits until the morning after, when Pete can hold him down loose and easy and kiss him everywhere before he sucks him off slow and hot.)

Pete's footsteps return and Mikey pushes himself up on his elbows, turning his head. "Easy," Pete says softly, his voice and every line of his body a complete 180 from before. He wipes a cloth over the stickiness of his spit before he reaches for Mikey, wrapping his arm around his waist and guiding him onto his feet, holding up his weight. "Easy, baby. All done now. You did so good."

"That was fucking hot," Mikey says, wincing at how his voice comes out slurred and mumbled. He clears his throat and tries again, resting his head on Pete's shoulder as they walk toward the bedroom. "Like, really fucking hot. Wow."

"Thanks."

"Where'd you get the underwear?"

"Baby, don't try to talk. Relax."

"'m fine." Pete eases him facedown onto the bed and Mikey burrows down into the bedding, hiding his face in the pillow. He's starting to feel the ache. God, tomorrow is going to be amazing. "Where'd you get them?"

"Victoria's Secret."

"Fancy."

"Yeah, well." Pete sits on the edge of the mattress and cards his fingers slowly through Mikey's damp hair. "Nothing but the best for your imaginary girlfriend."

"Mmm." Mikey presses his cheek against Pete's thigh, luxuriating in the touch. Pete smells like sweat and sex, and the slowly-fading heat of all that fire they were playing with. "You're the best."

Pete tugs gently at his hair. "You know I don't take anything you say seriously when you're like this."

"What about when I say I love you?"

Pete smiles and leans down to kiss his cheek. "Okay, I'll take that."

Mikey turns his head and kisses him properly. "We're going to play nice in the morning?"

"Definitely." Pete nuzzles him and then pulls back. "You want dinner?"

"Mmm." Mikey always makes a point of taking lunch late on Tuesdays. He's watching the clock anyway. "In a minute."

"Okay." Pete settles him comfortably against his thigh again. "Take as long as you want."  



End file.
